


Not my father's son

by alkazi



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Hate Speech, MTF Harry Potter, Powerful Harry, Self-Acceptance, Self-Esteem Issues, Severus Snape Lives, Slow Burn, Trans Character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-09
Updated: 2020-07-21
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:07:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25170634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alkazi/pseuds/alkazi
Summary: In which Harry finally takes a look inwards and sees something there has never been the time to see before."The old man laughed, and the barman set to ready the breakfast in the back. Before he could go through the door in the back, the front door chimed again. He turned around to greet Aileen, but his voice caught in his throat.At the doorstep stood a young woman in a black travelling cloak. Her long black hair was in disarray, and water dripped from the cloak onto the freshly washed floorboards. She clutched a crumpled piece of parchment in her hands in front of her chest."
Relationships: Harry Potter/Severus Snape
Comments: 13
Kudos: 104





	1. Of tea and potions

“Ach, be a good laddie and pour me another pint of the stout, will ya?”, an old man sitting at the bar asked, raising his empty glass to the barman. He wore a blue and green tammie, on top of his balding head. His smile was crooked, missed a couple of teeth, but was still kind and his eyes twinkled mischievously.

“You have already had enough today, Angus”, the barman replied without tearing his eyes away from the Daily Prophet, as he swirled his index finger in the air to magically guide a few rags behind his back. They followed the movement, and wiped a few freshly washed pint glasses levitating above the sink.

“Come on, laddie, how no?”, the old man cackled. “I’ve got nothin be’er tae do.”

The barman sighed and finally tore his dark eyes from the newspaper. He grabbed one of the levitating glasses and poured a fresh pint from the tap. Just before he handed it to Angus, he paused and glared at him.

“Be certain that once Aileen learns of this, you shall be sleeping in your drawing room again”, the barman warned, as he finally passed the glass.

The old man just laughed again and took a sip of his drink. The barman took the rest of the levitating glasses and placed them back on their shelves. He picked up the newspaper, pondered at it, and finally threw it into a self-disposing bin under the bar. Just before the first page disappeared in magical flames, he caught one last glance at the title: “ _ The Boy Who Lived missing! Fiancée and friends despair! _ ”.

* * *

“Welcome back, Angus”, the barman greeted as the old man came back to the bar the following day. “Will you be needing a pain relief potion for your back, along with your breakfast?”

“Ach, gae on”, Angus grumbled. He sat at one of the bar stools with some effort and sighed deeply. “Ye were right. Aileen didnea like tha last pint”

“Nor the time you have returned home”, the barman disappeared behind a door in the back of the room, and reappeared soon, carrying a small vial in one hand, and a steaming cup of tea in the other. He passed both to the old man. “The usual for breakfast?”

“Aye”, Angus agreed after gulping the potion. He visibly relaxed and sipped on his tea. “Aileen will be joinin us soon, could ye slip some of yers concoctions intae her cuppa? Somethin to make her nicer tae me?”

“She would treat you right, if you treated her right yourself”, the barman laughed knowing the old man didn’t mean anything bad. They both had been his daily customers for the last ten years or so, and he has never seen a more devoted pair.

The old man laughed, and the barman set to ready the breakfast in the back. Before he could go through the door in the back, the front door chimed again. He turned around to greet Aileen, but his voice caught in his throat.

At the doorstep stood a young woman in a black travelling cloak. Her long black hair was in disarray, and water dripped from the cloak onto the freshly washed floorboards. She clutched a crumpled piece of parchment in her hands in front of her chest. She was short and slim, and her pale skin looked like she needed a Pepper Up potion. None of these were especially wexing to the barman (he’d have to remember to mop the floor again before Aileen slips on it), but once he caught sight of the woman's green, almond shaped eyes, he was briefly thrown forty years back to his past. Seeing the same eyes smiling at him under a willow tree near his parents’ house. Back to the Shrieking Shack, to one final request to see those eyes looking at him… Time seemed frozen, until the woman whispered:

“Professor Snape?”

As if suddenly thrown back into the present, the barman snarled, and paced to where the woman still stood. He grabbed her arm roughly, and started dragging her towards the back room.

“Aye, laddie, be careful with the wee lass!”, Angus shouted, but before he could get off his stool, the barman and the woman already disappeared behind the door in the back.

“What the bloody hell are you doing here, Potter?!”, the barman sneered, his eyebrows drawn together, and all colour missing from his pale face. He was still clutching at the woman’s sleeve, and as soon as he realised, he pulled his hand away, as if it had burned him. “Have you finally decided that the old, disgusting spy does not deserve even this miniscule semblance of peace? That you had to drag me out, and show everyone that the Boy Who Lived found the last Death Eater alive? I was a bloody fool to think I could die in peace without seeing your Merlin forsaken face ever again!”

The barman’s chest was heaving, and a pain spread through it. He clutched at his own heart, just as he did a minute ago at the woman’s sleeve, and tried to breath through the fear and fury that raged inside him.

The woman's astonished eyes closed, and when she re-opened them, they were full of sadness. She quickly glanced down, and before the barman could react, she waved her hand and rested the tips of her fingers just above the man’s heart. Some of the fear and anger seemed to seep away, but the barman shoved her hand away and took a step back.

“Do not use your filthy magic on me, Potter!”, he sneered. The woman looked away, and held her hands close to her chest.

“I… I’m sorry”, she whispered. She glanced back at him, before looking away again. “You were clearly distressed, and it was my fault. I just… wanted to help…”, her voice trailed away, and she looked even smaller than she was.

“If you truly want to help, you will leave this village and forget you were ever here”, the man sneered and balled his hangs at his side.

“I…”, the woman started, but she seemed to lose her voice. She closed her eyes, and when she looked at the man again, her eyes were full of determination. “I came here for the services of the most powerful potions master in the country. I did not know it was you. In fact, as you might recall, I believed you were dead.” Her face was blank, but her eyes were a mix of pain and resolve. “We buried you. We mourned you. I fought to clear your name, and to get you the Order of Merlin you deserved!”

“I never asked you to, you self centered child!”, he barked at her. “And what is this, this mockery of a disguise, Potter? You thought you were clever, that I would not recognize you? Your…”, the man caught himself, and looked away.  _ Your eyes, they haunt me to this day. _

The woman stood silent while the barman tried to get his ragged breathing under control. Finally calmer, he took a second look at her. She was unhealthily pale, and skinnier than he ever remembered seeing Potter in the newspapers in the past years. Her hair was wet and messy, splashing over her face and down her back. She was shaking slightly, and still clutched the piece of parchment in her hand.

“I…”, she started weakly as if afraid her words would anger the man further. She gripped the parchment together and without looking the man in the eye continued: “I heard rumours of an elusive potions master living in this area. I’ve searched for weeks on end, and thought I had visited every single town in Scotland. I was near losing hope when I found this village”, she took a deep breath and rested her hip on the nearest countertop. 

“So you have found me”, the man said. He felt trapped in his own house, dozens of escape plans running through his head, before coming to a stop. There was no point in running. If Potter wanted to find him, he would be found sooner or later. “Very well, Potter. Arrest me. Send me off to Azkaban and collect yet another reward to show off to your children.”

At this, the woman flinched visibly. Tears gathered in her eyes, and she looked nothing like the fearsome Auror Potter that he had heard of. 

“I’m not here to arrest you, Professor. I came seeking your help”, she reached out her hand with the crumpled parchment, and held it in front of Severus. He carefully took the parchment, and as soon as it left her hand, the woman slid down the countertop onto the floor. He instinctively tried to grab onto her, but was only able to catch handfuls of the wet robes.

“Potter! What is the meaning of this?!”, the man yelled, collecting the lithe body from the floor. The woman was cold to the touch, and her cloak seemed to be heavier than her. He checked her pulse and breathing, and when they both came weak but acceptable, he grabbed his wand from his sleeve and ran a simple diagnostic spell on her. She was dehydrated, exhausted beyond belief, and seemed to not have eaten or slept properly in several days. Severus sighed, picked her up in his arms and carried her out to the pub’s floor. 

“Goodness gracious, Severus, my boy! What happened to the wee lady?”, an old woman’s voice rang as he came out from the back room. With an armful of Potter, he just shot her a quick glare, before he went down to the other corner of the room, where two worn armchairs stood by a warm fireplace. He carefully laid the woman on one of the chairs and glanced at the parchment she gave him. It was a list of ingredients for an advanced potion, and at first he couldn’t identify which one it was. He studied it, running combinations in his head, until finally only one option remained. He froze, suddenly understanding why Potter came to him in that state.

He swore and took off the soaked travelling cloak off the resting woman. Underneath she was wearing a simple grey woollen jumper and a pair of muggle jeans. Thankfully they didn’t seem too wet, but he cast a drying and warming spell just in case. 

“Is the wee lassie awright?”, Angus asked. Both him and Aileen were standing behind Severus, looking worried. He dropped his shoulders and massaged his temples with his hand.

“I do not know”, he replied, and not for the first time, wondered how he ended up in another mess helping Harry Potter.


	2. Of warmth and rain

When Harry woke up, she was lying in a comfortable armchair, near a softly crackling fireplace. She felt warm and safe, and even though she couldn’t recall exactly where she was, she was still at ease. There was a thick woolen knit blanket on top of her, and for the first time in a very long time everything seemed right.

“Ach, yer finally awake! Are ya awright dearie? Ya caused a wee offa stooshie now”, an old man’s voice brought her out of her daze. She snapped her head to look at a nearly bald man, seemingly in his late 70s. His accent was a thick Scottish brogue, and Harry felt at a loss as to what he was saying. She relaxed the hold on her wand, which she must have grabbed automatically.

“Um… st-stooshie…?”, she asked uncertainly, only to hear a giggle from a woman standing behind the man.

“Oh, love, he meant tae ask if ye were feelin’ any better now”, the woman clarified. She looked about the same age as the man, and she stood holding onto his arm. She had kind eyes, with crow’s feet in the corners, and her thin lips stretched in a friendly smile. Her hair was white and done up in a tight bun, just as Professor McGonagall wore hers.

Harry finally registered what the woman said, and hurried to reply:

“Oh, I’m so sorry!”, she squeaked and sat up straighter in her chair. “I-I’m alright, thank you. Where…?”

“Yer at the Hanging Bat Inn, love. Sev’rus’ doon in the back, throwin’ something or anotha toge’a. Me name’s Angus, and this bonny wee hen ‘ere is me wife, Aileen”, the man wrapped his arm around his wife’s waist and she batted it away playfully.

“We live at the farm hoose doon the road”, Aileen added and sat down in the other armchair. Angus settled on the seat’s arm and took his wife’s hand.

“Um.. a pleasure to meet you both. My name’s Harry”, she smiled at them.

“A rather unusual name fer a wee lass, innit?”, the man asked, but Aileen dug a finger between his ribs.

“Oh… um… it’s short for Harriet”, Harry rushed to add. “But just Harry is what everyone has always called me.”

Both Angus and Aileen could see a shadow of something dark pass through the young woman’s face, and exchanged a quick look. The old woman let go of her husband’s hand, leaned over in her seat and took Harry’s hands into hers instead.

“Harry is a lovely name, dearie, fitting a lovely young lady such as yourself”, Aileen patted Harry’s hands and smiled at her. 

“...thank you”, Harry returned the smile weakly, squeezed the other woman’s hands briefly and as she opened her mouth to say something else, she heard the door in the back open. She quickly released Aileen’s hands, and drew the wand again from her pocket underneath the blanket. She turned around in her seat and pointed the wand at the newcomer.

“Calm yourself, Potter”, Severus sneered as he closed the door with his foot. He carried a tray with a few plates and steaming mugs. He stopped briefly by the bar, left two plates and a mug on it, and continued towards the armchairs. He shot Angus and Aileen a pointed look and said: “Your meals are awaiting”, and when the older couple didn’t move immediately, he added, “Leave us alone.”

Angus stood up and gave a helping hand to his wife, who got up with cracking in her bones. She shot a feeble smile at Harry, and they walked off to sit at the bar and have their breakfast.

Once the couple was out of earshot, Severus released a heavy sigh through his crooked nose and put down the last plate on a coffee table by Harry’s armchair. Along with it he laid down a mug and a potion bottle.

“Drink the potion first”, he said curtly, and sat down in the chair that Aileen had previously occupied. Harry picked up the potion, but hesitated before opening it. “For fuck’s sake, you dimwit child. Had I wanted to kill you, I would have had plenty of opportunity in the last hour.”

The young woman shot him an annoyed glare, but drank the potion as quickly as she could. She grimaced at the taste, and squeezed her eyes shut when steam came blowing out from her ears, dishevelling her hair even further. A red blush came to rest on her face, and as the potion ran through her body and warmed it up, she had to push the blanket off to the side to cool herself down again.

They sat in silence for a long few minutes, the only noise coming from the fireplace and the old couple chatting quietly at the other end of the room. Harry fiddled with the empty bottle, trying to figure out how to start the conversation. Multiple times she took a bracing breath in, only to remain silent. She glanced at the potions master, but looked quickly away when she met his stony expression. 

“You are welcome”, the barman sighed finally. He gesticulated the table with his long fingers, “Do eat before you grace us with any more dramatics.”

“Oh, right, th-thanks!”, Harry grew even more red in the face, but put away the potion bottle and picked up the plate and cutlery instead. She tucked her feet up under her bum, and balanced the plate precariously on the arm of the seat. Severus glared at her as some of the baked beans slid dangerously close to the plate’s edge. Whenever it seemed they were about to fall off, the plate would somehow pivot to the other side. The game continued until the woman finished everything off and put the plate back on the coffee table. “Thanks”, she said again, and picked up the mug. She was happy to see it full of dark hot chocolate. “No marshmallows?”, she dared to lift one corner of her mouth, and look at Severus through her eyelashes.

The man sighed again, and ran a hand through his dark hair. It was a little longer than Harry remembered from all those years ago at Hogwarts, and it looked a little bit healthier. Harry supposed that not living in constant fear for your life left you with more time to attend to personal hygiene. The scowl on the Potions Master’s face was still the same though, and he glared down his nose at her.

The silence seemed to stretch again, and the brief courage Harry felt when she took the drink, now seemed long gone. The fire was still burning in the fireplace, and the heavy rain was still hitting the windows. It was hard to see any sunlight through the windows, but Harry imagined it couldn’t have been past noon yet. Several minutes passed, and Harry still couldn’t find the right words to break the silence.

Finally, Aileen and Angus must have taken pity on them, as they approached the armchairs while putting their jackets and scarves on.

“That’s us then”, the man waved at them and nodded his head at the barman. “Left ye the Sickles on the counter, laddie.”

“Don’t worry ‘bout the shawl, love, keep it, keep it”, Aileen put a hand on Harry’s shoulder when she noticed the younger woman trying to take the blanket off.

“Thank you, it’s really a lovely one”, the women exchanged smiles. Severus nodded at the other man, and the older couple left the pub.

Determined to not let the silence stretch again, Harry gathered her courage and looked the potions master in the eye.

“So how did you... you know... not die?”, she finished lamely. She could swear she saw Severus roll his eyes at her.

“As eloquent as always”, Severus paused for a second. “As you so ardently declared earlier today, am I not ‘the most talented potions master in the country’?”, sarcasm dripped from his voice, and Harry felt as if she was a first year student again. “Let me remind you, in case you have forgotten what little you had learned while fooling around in my classroom… Bezoar. Blood-Replenishing potion. Dittany. Bottled Phoenix tears”, he took a long pause between each of them. “Need I go on?”

Harry shook her head and looked away.

“You didn’t have to go into hiding.”

“Ah, yes, and marvel at the insides of Azkaban while the brightest of the Wizarding World decided my fate? I think not.”

“But I cleared your name! They know you were working for our side the whole time!”

“Careful, Potter”, Severus’ tone took a dangerous note to it. “I may have been Albus’ pet at the end of the war, but it has not always been the case.”

“...I know what you’ve done”, Harry said carefully. “I saw the memories.”

“Is that how you persuaded the Wizengamot? By dragging my most private...”

“No!”, she interrupted him. “I mean... I would never share them! They were... are... safe with me. Hermione, Ron, Professor McGonagall and me, we all testified. But I never shared what I’ve seen in the pensive, sir.”

The man didn’t reply immediately. He stared off into the fireplace for a long time, while Harry fiddled with her almost empty mug. The hot chocolate was more bitter than she was used to, but it tasted even better than the Whittard powdered mix she typically drank at home in London.

At long last, Severus sighed and looked back at Harry. He took out a piece of parchment from his robes’ pocket. When he spoke, he seemed to be choosing his words even more delicately than usual.

“This potion...”, he started carefully. Harry paled again, remembering she had passed the note to him before fainting. Her hands started to shake and she had to put her mug down in fear that she’d spill the leftover contents. She was terrified of what the Potions Master would say, but she was determined to get what she came to him for. “This potion is dangerous, and of miniscule success rate. There has only been one recorded case when it did indeed work, and where the receiver did not perish in agony.”

Harry, of course, knew of the history of the potion. She took a deep breath in to defend her decision, but the man held up his hand to stop her.

“What I am trying to tell you, Potter, is that you do not need a potion to define who you are.” Snape looked Harry in the eye and held her gaze. “You do not need a potion to be who you want to be. You do not need a potion to become a woman, because you already are a woman.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, if I've written something that seems off to you, or you think is offensive in any way, please do let me know!
> 
> I hope neither Harry nor Severus seemed too out of character here... I'm trying to keep them as close to cannon as I remember, while still adapting them to the situation they're in... Do let me know what you think!

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to write something to show all of our LGBTQIA+ community that everyone is welcome, despite what J.K.Rowling might write on Twitter. To iterate the point that trans women are women. 
> 
> I don't intend to offend anyone, and if I've messed up something up or wrote something that is hurtful to you - please message me. I know I'm far from knowing everything, and I want to learn, so please educate me!
> 
> Also, this desperately needs a Beta, so if you liked it so far and would like to contribute, please let me know!
> 
> Love,
> 
> Alkazi


End file.
